DOMINIC
"What the hell, Uncle?!" Owen exploded, striding into the room.
I was midway through pouring my bourbon, so I paused to stare at him. Owen Fletcher, the only son of my older brother, Jude, and the next CEO of Helix Biotech. He gripped his tie around the knot, tugging, then drove a hand through his hair, expelling a frustrating sigh.
"Why did you do that?!" He continued, pacing the room.
"You have to be specific nephew. Many things have happened in the last few hours. So far, only one is memorable." I said, looking away from the glare on his face.
I resumed pouring my drink while my thoughts wandered to her. Harper Wilson. She had gotten bolder. Not the timid girl who could barely stare someone in the eyes twice without blushing or even hiding behind Owen. The last time I met with her was seven years ago, and we had exchanged just a 'Hello' before she hurried away.
She had kissed me. An innocent kiss, it might seem. But… I gaze down at the dent in my pants. I groaned inwardly, swirling the drink absentmindedly. Just the thought of her lush body pressing into mine was already turning me on. The way she had latched her lips on mine, her alluring scent, and the response I had dragged out of her…
Fuck. I needed to get laid. Fast.
"You know what I am talking about. How can you kiss her knowing she's my girl?!" Owen accused, bristling. His face and ears had turned red, sweat coating his forehead despite the room's air conditioning.
I winced as I gulped down the bourbon in the cup, setting it down. A smirk formed on my lips as I regarded him with a raised brow. "Your girl?"
"Yes. Harper is my girl, and you know that!" He said through clenched teeth. "You've seen her with me several times, uncle. You know better than to mess around with her!"
My brows furrowed in mock confusion, and I couldn't help the derision that laced my voice. "Who's Camel then if Harper is your girl? I could have sworn that an engagement had happened earlier. Maybe I'm getting too old and losing some brain cells, or is it this drink?"
I mused, raising the empty glass cup. That made Owen's glare deepen.
"It's Camilla," He snapped, moving closer, getting into my face. "I don't know what sick game you're trying to play right here, but stay the hell away from Harper."
I chuckled, grabbing the bourbon bottle and taking a sip directly from him. Then I stood, walking to the window, staring at the city skyline. The stars and moons were gone, unlike earlier, when they had shown in their brilliance. A calm wind glides into the room through the open window, and I inhale deeply, shutting my eyes.
A storm was coming. Of course. Typical of Fletcher's engagement. It was either a storm, a scandal, or worse, someone dying. I'd say Owen was lucky. It was only a scandal and a storm brewing. Yet, he acted like he had gotten it all worse.
"I should have listened to my father. Extending an invitation has to be the biggest mistake I've ever made. Now, look how you drag the family's name through mud!"
I stiffened. My eyes narrowed on a twinkling light from the top of a building. Then slowly, I turned to him.
"I did nothing wrong here. Why am I the one getting accused?" I snickered, slanting my head in his direction. "Or is it just something normal for father and son to do? Picking on the easily defeated person?"
"Yes. The apple doesn't fall far from the tree. I thought you'd make a difference. Highly disappointed. And lastly, nephew, you can't eat your cake and bar it."
Owen glared through narrowed lids, his chest heaving, his face red in anger. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. Not that I cared if he said anything.
My words still stand. He was to blame. He had cheated. Not like I was surprised anyway. He took after his father, and they never saw wrong in what they did.
Owen turned to the door, his fingers closed around the metal handle. "Harper is way out of your league and old enough to be your daughter. Perhaps if you weren't so useless, you'd realise that."
He opened the door, stepped out, and slammed hard. I chuckled as the door shook, staring at where the idiot had stood. It had taken every ounce of me not to punch him at that party for what he did. Yet, he was still arrogant.
My phone buzzed once on the table, its screen light glowing faintly in the dimly lit room. I walked towards it, staring at the single name that popped up.
Langford.
I sighed, swiping the text to the side, and poured myself another glass of bourbon. My thoughts wandered to Harper. She must be getting heat from her parents as well. The way Mrs Wilson had pulled her out of the banquet hall. The side eyes she had directed at me before she left.
Well, I wouldn't blame her. No one in their right senses should be associated with me. I couldn't tell what made Harper think what she did. And that itself was infuriating, plus my dick was beginning to react to the thought of her. Maybe if my gaze hadn't lingered too much on the curve of her ass in the dress—
"Okay, Dominic, get a grip. You're not some hormonal teenager. You're a fucking middle-aged man and shouldn't be thinking of your Nephew's ex in nothing!"
Where the hell is your dignity as a Fletcher?
"In the trash can," I muttered.
People had cursed me soon after the kiss and even speculated a lot of things about me fucking Harper before now. Don't you care about your reputation?
"I'm useless. Why should I care about it?" I scoffed, grabbed my jacket, and strode to the door. I needed some air. Perhaps it would eliminate these unwanted thoughts of her.
—
The pool had always had a calming effect on me, but tonight, I didn't think I'd be enjoying any of that serenity I had hoped for.
I froze, catching something in the water. No. Someone was struggling to come up. As I got closer, I saw who it was. Harper Wilson.
She was drowning. I let out a snort and rolled my eyes. Of course, I knew this would happen. It was Fletcher's curse anyway. Scandal. Storm. Death.
But really, I didn't expect it to be her. And the irritating thing? I was the one who witnessed her dying. The perfect scapegoat for a murder trial. Looked like one of those crime dramas where the killer's conveniently alone at the scene while the real culprit hides behind locked doors.
For a second, I seriously considered walking away and saving myself the trouble, because why not? Sending me to jail for murder, plus being useless, would be too heavy a burden to carry.
Kidding.
It'd be a hassle to explain I knew nothing about it if I stayed, so leaving the scene was the only reasonable thing to do.
But then I looked again. Her body was still beneath the surface, limp, her hair fanned out like ink in the water. That body—the one I'd imagined more times than I care to admit. Naked. On my bed. Writhing, whispering my name with a voice full of want.
Fuck. Before I regretted my decision, I yanked off my jacket and dove in.